Moonlight
by Rosea
Summary: Newly arrived on Earth, Turlough reflects on his fate and looks to the moon for comfort. Angst one shot.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Dr Who or any of the characters therein and I don't make any profit from them, I just take them out to play every now and then.

By the light of the moon, Turlough weeps.

**Moonlight**

Vislor Turlough, son of Trion royalty, lord from birth of lands beyond reckoning, wealth beyond calculation and heir to a position of power and influence of hundreds of thousands of people, sat on the roof top of Brendon School for Boys and gazed at the moon. He wasn't supposed to be up here, boys weren't allowed on the roof, but rules didn't overly bother him, he did what he wanted and hang the consequences.

There was nothing that they could do to him here that hadn't already been done to him already. A couple of stipes with a cane was nothing in comparison to the beatings be had received at the hands of the men who had sent him here. Detention was a breeze compared to the long, lonely months of solitary confinement he had suffered before his exile began. A telling off from the Head Master of the school was laughable when put next to the public humiliation he had endured at the trial that had sent him to this primitive world.

Turlough studied the moon thoughtfully. There were great volumes of poetry written about Earth's moon, volumes he had read through firstly because he was being forced to by the teachers, and later because he wanted to. He had never thought of Trion's moons as being things to romantic poetry about, but somehow this moon was different. Not just bigger than the ones he had grown up with, but somehow containing a mystical power. Stupid, really, considering that the moon was only a great lump of rock orbiting this pathetic world. He could expound for hours about orbital velocity, the impact of moons on tides, albedo and the reflective properties of the different rocks and surface types, all very coldly and clinically, but completely lacking in any awe or feeling.

Turlough turned his eyes away from it as he started to feel them burn with unshed tears. The moon was the closest heavenly body to Earth, yet it could be as far away as his own home world for all that it was worth. He could no more reach Trion as he could Earth's offspring. He clenched his fists, determined not to cry. _Cold_, he said to himself, _hard, distant like the moon. Don't let them see you despair, they'll take advantage, they'll hurt you_.

He wouldn't be able to define who 'they' were, and probably stammer something about the teachers and other students if asked, but they weren't really the objects of his hate and fear. 'They' were the ones who sent him here, the ones who exiled him, tore him away from his family and cast him, all alone, among people he didn't know and didn't understand, people who were a long way from his intellectual equals and so far below what used to be his social standing that they wouldn't even be allowed in his presence as a child. 'They' were the ones who had killed his mother and his sister, banished his father and baby brother, and who had tortured and imprisoned him for months before they finally exiled him. 'They' were the ones who haunted his dreams and robbed his sleep of any true rest.

"Boy! What are you doing up here?"

Turlough snapped around, ready to fight or defend himself, or failing that, throw himself off the building and hope the fall killed him. He forced himself to relax, it was only a teacher. The teachers were small time bullies in comparison to his nightmares and could either be ignored or worked around with a few evasive answers and a bit of finger pointing. He had become adept at turning their attention else where so they left him alone to his misery.

"Sorry sir," he said, not volunteering any information.

"You know you're not allowed up here," the Master blustered. He stepped out of the shadows and was revealed as the Brigadier, the maths Master.

Turlough didn't mind the Brig as much as some of the others. He was vague and he gave the impression that something had snapped inside him, but there were hints of a past which involved far more than paper pushing at a military desk job. He was also some what more intelligent that the others and willing to accept Turlough's slightly less than orthodox ways of solving maths problems.

"It's Turlough, isn't it," the Brigadier said.

"Yes, sir," Turlough replied.

"Is something wrong, boy?" he asked, frowning as he looked the pseudo-student. Despite the scowl, he looked like he might be willing to listen.

"I miss home, sir," he said.

"First time at boarding school?"

"Yes, sir," Turlough said.

"Your family going to come and visit on parent's day?" the Brigadier asked awkwardly.

"No, sir, they're dead," Turlough said, looking away over the night time landscape. It wasn't entirely true, but they may as well be, he doubted that he would ever see them again. He didn't want the old man to see him cry and he was having more and more trouble keeping it in.

"Sorry to hear that," the Brigadier said brusquely. "Well, make the most of the friends you make here, good friends make up for a lot of losses."

Turlough scoffed quietly. He didn't want to make friends with the snivelling children in this school. For one thing, they were all considerably younger than him. He looked the same age as the 16 year olds who populated the place, but when he translated Trion years to Earth years, he was closer to 22. Still considered young on Trion, but no longer a child, unlike the inmates of this prison he found himself in.

"I'll try sir," he said unconvincingly.

"Well, you'd better get to bed," the Brigadier said, his empathy obviously running out with his conversation.

"I suppose so, sir," Turlough said without moving. _Go away_, he was thinking very hard. _Go to bed, leave me alone_.

His powers of persuasion were something inherited through his mother's blood line, one of the many reasons why they had killed her. The telepathy had been passed on to her children, but none of them had had enough training to be considered as dangerous as she. Turlough had learned through trial and error that if he thought something hard enough at a person, he could usually persuade them to do what he wanted, especially these weak willed humans. It hadn't worked on Trion, his people had stronger minds and control over their own thoughts than, but humans were weak, another reason to despise them even as he sought to control them.

The Brigadier frowned, as if he were aware of Turlough's meddling and for a moment Turlough felt him resist, as though a younger, stronger man had emerged from the shadows and taken control. The resistance didn't last for long, however, and the Brigadier's resistance failed, that stronger person consigned once more to the dim recesses of his mind. The old man mumbled something and headed back to the roof access door, leaving Turlough in control of solitary space.

Turlough made sure that he was gone, then turned back to the night sky, examining the spread of stars and rubbing away the slight headache which came from exerting his poorly trained powers. The constellations were unfamiliar to him, and he had little idea where his home world was in relation to this. Somewhere closer to the centre of the galaxy, there the stars were denser and closer together, but more than that he couldn't say. The tears that he had been holding back trickled down his cheeks. He was so alone and until the day came that he could freely search for his family, he would remain so.

Cold, hard, solitary, singular and distant, that was how he would survive his 10 year sentence, and he would only ever weep when he was alone in the moonlight.


End file.
